


You Want A What!?

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Bilbo, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bad Flirting, Bilbo Has Issues, Bilbo is So Done, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Flirting, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bilbo, Oblivious Thorin, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sassy Bilbo, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Broods, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, esl!thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the stranger repeated the offensive word for the umpteenth time, with an added innuendo, Bilbo had had enough. Punching the man in the face may not have been the best solution, but Bilbo would later insist it was not his fault.</p><p>Or, a language barrier culminates in Bilbo thinking Thorin is making homophobic slurs, and Bilbo ends up assaulting the innocent foreigner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another ESL!Thorin multi-chapter fic going on right now, Teach Me Your Ways, which I highly suggest you guys check out ;)  
> But this was actually my original ESL!Thorin one-shot, which I wasn't going to post, but... Teach Me Your Ways has gotten so much love, I decided to put it out there.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Bilbo Baggins stood outside his flat, leaning against the building's cool brick wall as a cigarette burned in his right hand. His landlord had strict rules and Bilbo wasn't going to risk losing his security deposit, despite the immaculate cleanliness of his place, just because the landlord got a whiff of smoke.

Bilbo tried to use the non-smoking policy as the kick he needed to quit his addiction. It actually worked usually, laziness beating out the necessary travel up and down multiple flights of stairs. But on a day like today, when frustration burned inside his chest with no other release – well, he quickly decided the venture was worth it.

A sudden vibration in his pocket had Bilbo startling, almost dropping his cigarette in the process. Against his better judgment, Bilbo pulled out his phone, only to groan when he read the caller ID.

“Lobelia,” he growled, frustration renewed. He pushed off from the wall in favour of pacing back and forth in a poor attempt to subdue his aggravation. “Nosy, gossipy-”

A tapping on his shoulder interrupted his rant. Bilbo whirled around, the words dying on his lips as he took in the stranger before him.

He was tall, almost a foot taller than Bilbo's ( _quite respectable_ , thank you) five feet and four inches. Long dark hair waved down his back, greying at the temples. A short beard covered his cheeks and chin, thick eyebrows above piercing blue eyes.

“Fag,” was all the man said. His voice was thick, as if his tongue rolled awkwardly around the word.

Bilbo just stared at him blankly.

“Fag,” the man repeated, with a little more force as an irritated frown marred his handsome features.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo finally sputtered, the anger previously held for his cousin now growing for this – this terribly rude man!

The man growled in frustration, a thick hand coming to rub his forehead. “Fag!” he yelled, gesturing to Bilbo’s body.

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. Well, he never! “I’m – I’m not just going to stand here while you – you yell homophobic slurs at me!” he yelled back.

Confusion seemingly passed over the man’s features. “No,” he began.

“Wha – no? NO?” Bilbo shouted. “You can’t just – just walk up to me, insult me, and then tell me to _take it_!” The cigarette in his hand had dwindled down to the butt, burning Bilbo’s fingers. He hissed, dropping it to the ground and quickly stomping out the ash.

The stranger was scowling now, perhaps angry that Bilbo was actually standing up for himself. At least, that’s what Bilbo told himself. Then he turned away, and for a moment Bilbo thought, quite relieved, that he was leaving. But the man just scrubbed a hand over his face, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. Soon he turned back, features slack in a façade of calm, though Bilbo could see the anger simmering in his eyes.

When he spoke again, it was with exaggerated slowness. It only made his thick accent all the more apparent, however. “I can have fag?” Though the words resembled a statement, his inflection made it sound like a question. Bilbo was just about ready to walk away, to just be the bigger man before things escalated further.

Of course, the stranger then made a seemingly obscene gesture, waving his hands at Bilbo, slowly repeating _fag_ – as if Bilbo hadn’t heard him the _first_ ten bloody times! – and then bringing two fingers to his open mouth.

Now, Bilbo blamed a few things on what happened next.

Firstly, he had just spent the day being scolded by his cousin Lobelia, who had, in fact, never accepted his sexuality. To this day she called him, uninvited, only to lecture him about his choices. He could still hear her derogatory words from earlier: _“You need to stop this silly, childish rebellion for attention and just marry a proper woman already! And not one of those men dressed as a woman, you know that doesn’t really count!”_ So, perhaps, just a little, he was projecting some, ahem, _issues_ onto the poor innocent stranger. Maybe.

Now, any Englishman with enough awareness of the slang of his own country knew fag meant cigarette. But in Bilbo’s poor, _poor_ defense – he pleaded temporary insanity, in fact – he had, well, quite forgotten. Now, he had a reason. Not a good one, but a reason nonetheless: American television. He had been watching far too much American television recently, and had gotten quite used to their idioms. One drama had been particularly intriguing, involving a young man being bullied after coming out. Yes, admittedly, Bilbo had probably been so invested in the show because it was a bit cathartic for him, when the man stood up for himself and bravely embraced his sexuality. Anyways, the word _fag_ had been used in a completely different context then, and that was the only way he had heard the word used recently. Now, bringing these two things together, along with prior anger, a quick temper, and a language barrier… well, it didn’t turn out very well.

So, when Bilbo saw the man gesture to his mouth, in what Bilbo interpreted as an _extremely_ suggestion innuendo, he quite snapped. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fist flew out and punched the man square in the nose. Despite the difference in size, Bilbo’s throw had a bit of force, and the man stumbled back a bit in surprise. Bilbo watched, triumph warming his chest, as the stranger cupped his noise painfully.

“Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before insulting someone for being gay!” Bilbo spat, adrenaline rushing through his veins. And if he perhaps imagined Lobelia’s face instead of the stranger, well… His beloved cousin would never know.

The man, who had been letting out an endless stream of what was no doubt curses in his native language, looked back over to Bilbo. Confusion was clearly fighting his anger, even as blood started dripping from behind his hand. Brows drawn into a deep frown, the man bent down and picked up Bilbo’s discarded butt.

“ _Fag_ ,” he drawled, shaking the cigarette remains for emphasis.

And then, finally, it hit Bilbo.

“Oh – oh, sweet Yavanna!” he cried, reaching forward to grab the man’s arm. He flinched away, snarling dangerously. “I’m terribly sorry! So, so sorry!” Bilbo clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure of what to do, arms still partially raised between them. “Is it bad?” he asked, pantomiming removing his hand from his nose.

The man just glared at him for a beat, and Bilbo desperately hoped he knew enough English to recognize an apology. Slowly he lifted his hand away, revealing angry red skin over the bridge. Blood slowly leaked out, but overall, the damage wasn’t severe.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he said a tad cheerfully, “Oh, good. It’s certainly not broken.” The glower he received in response told him the man certainly did not return his optimism. “Ah, well,” Bilbo scratched the back of his head, awkwardly looking around. There was no shop nearby with a bathroom to clean up in. He chewed on his lip, mulling over his options. If only his parents could see him now! Attacking a stranger – most likely a new immigrant, or perhaps an unassuming tourist – and then refusing to help! Why, his mother would have his hide, scolding him for how utterly improper he was being. No, he had only one choice.

“Would you like to come up?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final part :)

It took some convincing to get the man to follow him, not that Bilbo quite blamed him. In all honestly, he was quite surprised to hear the thumping footsteps behind him. Had their roles been reversed, Bilbo would _never_ have followed his assaulter to their house.

Unless…

Bilbo quickly glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. Surely he wouldn’t…seek some sort of revenge!

… Would he?

Blue eyes caught Bilbo’s gaze before narrowing to slits. Gulping, the shorter man quickly turned back. He was being ridiculous. A little hospitality never hurt anyone. Bilbo was quite sure the man would appreciate his effort to atone. Perhaps he would be so glad, he would even give Bilbo his number…

Shaking his head, Bilbo quickly expelled such traitorous thoughts. The man may be ridiculously handsome, but it would never happen. They couldn’t even communicate! Not to mention Bilbo assaulted him.

Yes, he’d best not forget _that_.

Once outside his flat, Bilbo politely held the door open and motioned the man in. He received a withering glance for his efforts.

“My name is Bilbo, by the way,” he introduced. “Bilbo Baggins.” He glanced over at his guest, looking for some sign of recognition. When it appeared the man didn’t understand what he was saying, he pointed to himself and slowly enunciated, “ _Bilbo_. My name is Bilbo.” The blank, slightly disdainful staring didn’t change, and Bilbo quickly gave up.

When the man made to go down the hall, Bilbo quickly stopped him. A loud sigh clearly communicated frustration without the need for a common language. Bilbo just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“Ah – boots off, please,” he instructed. Arms crossed over a chest in defiance. Clearing his throat, Bilbo gestured to the man’s footwear. Then he made an extremely helpful shooing motion. “Please,” he added once more, for good measure. Blue eyes refused to look away as even as the man bent down to tug off his shoes. Heat flooded Bilbo’s cheeks and he quickly averted his gaze, though he could still feel the intensity of the stare.

The nosebleed had stopped on their trek up the stairs, but a few drops had landed on the man’s shirt. Bilbo tutted at the sight, guiding his guest to the washroom. Without waiting for Bilbo’s preamble, the man squeezed through the doorway, more or less pushing his host out of the way. An angry retort immediately clawed up Bilbo’s throat, but he pushed it down. He reminded himself he was, in fact, quite deserving of any anger.

The man stood before the sink, grabbing Bilbo’s hand cloth and wiping it across his bloodied face without compunction. Bilbo gaped.

The utter _audacity_!

He quickly spun around and made for the laundry room before he, once again, did something he regretted. He grabbed a bottle of stain remover and an old toothbrush he had for situations such as these. Well, not exactly – Bilbo’s clothing stains generally involved far less blood. None at all, in fact.

Once he returned, the man’s face was all clear. He prodded at the red inflamed skin of his nose delicately, and Bilbo truly hoped there would be no bruise. The hand cloth lay crumpled on the floor, but Bilbo willfully ignored that.

Clearing his throat, Bilbo began, “Now, if you’d please, ah, remove your–”

Before he could even finish, the man whipped off his shirt and all but _threw it_ in Bilbo’s face. Sputtering, he quickly removed the offending garment.

“Well, I don’t know how they do things in your country, but in England we don’t go around throwing our _bloody shirts_ at people! Especially not in their _face_!” Annoyance getting the better of him, Bilbo made his way to the occupied sink and turned the faucet to hot water.  “Now,” he began as he squirted stain remover on the shirt and scrubbed furiously, “I haven’t exactly had a bloody good day, so I’d appreciate it if – well, yes, I know being _assaulted_ by a complete stranger in a foreign country isn’t exactly _fun_ , but –”

A loud snort came from beside him. Bilbo paused in his ministrations momentarily, looking up, terrified his rant had been understood. But there was no trace of humour in the man’s eyes, only pain as his hand came up to cup his nose. Bilbo’s own nose twitched as it throbbed with sympathy pang. He went back to scrubbing, but soon found the man’s eyes boring into him to be a bit, well, distracting.

He dropped the shirt and brush into the sink, turning the water back to cool as he rinsed out the fabric.

“Well!” he declared pointlessly, looking around for a cloth to dry his hands on. His gaze slowly drifted to the floor, where a once perfectly good cloth lay abandoned and dirty. As he looked up, he locked eyes with the man. The unexpected guest shifted uncomfortably, gaze averting. If Bilbo didn’t know any better, he may have said the man actually looked _guilty_.

Sighing, Bilbo started down the hall, gesturing for the man to follow. He led them into the living room, silently inviting the man to sit on the couch. Bilbo then made his way to the attached kitchen. “I may as well make you a cuppa while you wait,” he explained over the island. Setting the kettle to boil, he chanced a glance back at his guest, catching his confused frown. A few minutes later, Bilbo plopped down a steaming mug of tea on the table, accompanied by a bowl of sugar, a creamer, and a small spoon.

Bilbo smothered a laugh as the man leaned forward, sniffing suspiciously.

“It’s just tea!” This was met with a doubtful glance. “Oh, goodness.” This time, he couldn’t suppress his eye roll. “Drink it or don’t,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way back to the bathroom. “My duty as host has been fulfilled!”

Apparently the soak had done a world of good, as the stains came out with relative ease. Once gone completely, Bilbo wrung the excess water out of the shirt. He shook it out before returning to his guest, wet garment held away from his body.

“This can just go in the dryer, right?” he asked, coming to stand before the man. By now, Bilbo was getting just a _bit_ fed up with the continual silence. At least the man could let him know if he didn’t understand! “Drying machine. You know, big, ah – big machine,” he pantomimed a big square. “…It dries stuff,” he finished lamely. He received the dubious arching of a thick black brow. “Oh, just come along, will you?”

He led the man to the laundry room, which was really a glorified closet. Opening the dryer, he mimicked throwing the shirt in. “It’s okay to go in the dryer, right?” It looked like a simple enough shirt, but Bilbo just wanted to be sure. He didn’t want to be responsible if the garment shrunk beyond wearability.

Met with a stony stare and cold silence, Bilbo threw the shirt in without a care. “Oh, bother it!” he exclaimed, shutting the door and starting the machine. “If that shirt comes out with some problem, I won’t be blamed!” He wagged his finger to help get his point across.

His exasperation was rewarded with a smile. Bilbo had turned to leave, but quickly did a double take as the man’s lips twitched upwards. It was a small gesture, but it lit up the stranger’s face. His eyes sparkled humourously, features only becoming more devastatingly handsome.

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed a bit helplessly. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, as if the situation was not terribly awkward already. Frustrated with his own hopeless attraction, Bilbo hurried back to the living room where he dramatically flung down on the couch, propriety be damned.

“I mean, seriously!” he exclaimed, shielding his eyes behind his arm in shame. “I have the absolute worst timing. We can’t even communicate, not to mention I punched you for no bloody good reason! And yet,” he sighed, slowly dropping his arm and meeting the eyes of the stranger, the man who (thankfully, yet cursedly) would never know what he was saying. “I would love nothing more than to ask you out for coffee.”

The man tilted his head, eyeing Bilbo appraisingly. Then he spoke, words harsh and guttural, yet somehow smooth on his tongue.

Bilbo just shook his head, sighing forlornly. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. The phrase was repeated, along with a rustling sound. Bilbo didn’t bothering looking up, but soon something heavy landed on his lap. The man had tossed him a book. Picking it up, he read the title: _English as a Second Language for Beginners_.

The edges were well worn, and several pages were dog-eared. It had obviously been thoroughly read multiple times over.

When the man spoke again, this time in thickly accented English, Bilbo’s throat went dry.

“I want coffee with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys have enjoyed this, and if you like ESL!Thorin I have a longer story going on with him called Teach Me Your Ways :)


End file.
